Devotion
by nancystagerat
Summary: Not many people would be willing to harbor a murderer under their roof. But she has. And she is willing follow him to hell. onesided ToddLovett, inprogress.
1. Chapter 1

Funny how he only noticed me when I'd done something wrong.

I'd always been at his back, unafraid, willing to do whatever it took for him to achieve his ends. An old friend, ever faithful, ever obedient. His to command. His to love or hate, accept or condemn, hold close or cast away. His to use until I was of no use anymore. And I was fine with that.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Even young and married as I'd been before Turpin had him sent away for some unfounded crime, I'd admired Benjamin Barker. He and his Lucy had lived above Albert and I, and a lovely family they were at that. Ben was a kind man. Mild-mannered. Hardworking. Attentive to his pretty wife. Polite to me whenever I happened to stumble across his path. We forged a distant kind of friendship, him and me, enough so that our few conversations were easy and companionable, and that my husband and I became party to certain aspects of his life. As hard as I tried to come off to him as distant and disaffected, to this day there is no happier memory in my mind as the day Ben's daughter Johanna was born. I'll never forget the frightened way he held her that first week, how reverent and awed and so very gentle he was with his perfect baby angel. He adored her like no other, and he was beautiful.

Though there was always a twinge in my heart when I spoke to him or his wife or cooed at Johanna, I knew Ben loved his family with every ounce of himself. He'd had everything I'd ever wanted and would never know. Even though I knew I'd never have a child of my own or feel such a love for myself, seeing him so happy had been enough for me then.

Ben was this exquisite ideal to me, a genteel wonderful man with a storybook life I'd always dreamed of. I myself had only married Albert Lovett to settle a debt between our families, and as far as mine was concerned, I was no longer their problem. As affable as Albert was, he never wanted to know more than the dimensionless face I put on for him. I was never expected to love him, and seeing as my husband had been almost old enough to be my grandfather at the time, well, he wasn't up to having any children running about the place to say the least. So I'd content myself to watch the Barkers at a distance, speak to them when spoken to, and admire the kind of life unfitting the likes of me.

I never exactly _hated_ the lot I had, but neither can I say I ever enjoyed it. I got by, some days whether I liked it or not. After Johanna was born, the days I tended not to like were the ones Lucy spoke to me while Ben was working. Albert was oblivious, of course; the extent of his concern lay with making sure our upstairs neighbors paid their rent on time. So Lucy came to me as a last resort for company. I remember the wistful look in her eyes as she gazed out my windows at nothing, the emptiness and regret beneath blue irises. Every so often she would voice the thoughts she harbored not-so-hidden back behind those crystalline eyes. She spoke of wanting more than the life Benjamin had given her. Wanting finer things, to be more than a mere barber's wife. A higher station than the pedestal the man who loved her from the highest heavens to deepest rings of hell and back had placed her on.

I'd seen Judge Turpin with his Beadle and his flowers under her window. So, I believed, had Ben on more than one occasion. And I learned that Lucy Barker would throw away her sun, while I'd have sold my soul back then for but one brush of his warmth against my face! Not a fiber of my being understood how she could feel anything but love for Ben. Less of me could fathom why she'd betray he who'd die for her, and all for a lecher with a handful of posies.

Still, I'd sighed and smiled the sympathy Lucy had craved those rare times she came to me. Though all the while I hated her inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Then one day Ben disappeared. Sent away for some supposedly heinous crime I'd not been privy to. Judge Turpin's doing. Of course Lucy was inconsolable, but though I never knew for sure, I suspected she had not been completely adverse to that particular turn of events. She shut herself away, and the first she left was when called away to Turpin's by the beadle. Shortly thereafter, I'd heard that the "contrite" Judge Turpin had done with Lucy that night what he'd pursued her for all those years. And that she'd poisoned herself with arsenic from the apothecary around the corner.

I could only hope she'd done so out of remorse. Sick pity bubbled in my gut for weeks, like hot tar spilled across the streets. It was a fickle mix, that tar. A good amount of me felt Lucy deserved what she got, but the thought of how her death and Johanna's subsequent "adoption" would ravage Ben left burns like rising bile in my throat. That is, if he ever learned of them. If he returned. Which he wouldn't.

Ben's wife and daughter were never coming back, that at least was certain. Albert and I needed to find another boarder to take the Barkers' place and to keep us from digging ourselves into debt. So a few days after Turpin had collected Johanna and settled the arrangement with my husband, I went to clean the empty upstairs room.

The place had the look of having been left in haste; bedclothes undone, Johanna's doll left face down on the floor, Lucy's wardrobe open and her dresses falling off their hangers. Only once had I been in the room since the Barkers moved in, and for a bit all I could do was stare. There was still so much of them left here, like Ben's whole life had been upended and dumped across the floor. Before I realized it, I'd begun tracing my fingers along the edge of his dresser, feeling nicks where he'd laid his razors down without shutting them. A pitcher and basin still half full with water sat on the table, and small bottles of cologne rested inside one half-opened drawer. Gingerly I laid my hand on the handle, but before I could push it back in the touch set the drawer tumbling from the dresser frame. My breath caught as I watched not only the cologne bottles, but also a velvet box plummet to the boards. The box opened as it fell, sending flashes of silver skittering across the floor and I started as far back as I could from them. Ben's razors.

Slowly I bent to pick up one of the silver blades, one that had snapped open upon contact with the floor. It was polished to such a high shine it almost seemed to glow, and just touching it made me feel filthy by comparison. It was lovely, almost mesmerizingly so. But still there was an air about the thing that felt almost as if I were intruding upon something private just by holding it, and rather than prolong the feeling I collected them as quickly as I could and put them away.

I took what could be sold downstairs, swept the place and covered up the doll and cradle I didn't have the heart to throw away. Everything except the razors. Call it hope, call it stupidity, call it what you like, but I took the velvet box, wrapped it up and hid it. Those razors had always been an extension of Ben, and having them here was almost like he'd left a piece of himself behind. A piece he might one day come looking for, no matter how slim the possibility.

I couldn't have sold the things if I'd wanted to, how much I could've gotten for them or how poor I'd become notwithstanding. As cracked and pathetic as it sounds, I'd probably have starved to death before erasing that last vestige of Ben from my life.


	3. Chapter 3

It was later, years later, when I realized Lucy hadn't stayed as dead as I'd hoped. I'd never have known she was even alive had she not stumbled across me one day lost and looking for money. Her mind was just a shell of what it once had been, her body bent and ragged, yet the woman survived. I recognized her eyes. I could never mistake those crystal blue eyes, even sunken in the face of the beggar-crone she'd become. She'd roamed the streets ever since, brainsick and diseased. The arsenic had started to eat at her brain, and liquor had finished the job to the point where she didn't recognize me, or almost anyone, anymore. It would punish her 'til the end of her days, and as such, I felt no need to be cruel. Or, for that matter, in any way kind to her. Lucy Barker had been dead to me before the thought of arsenic had even crossed her mind.

Time passed, and I forgot about her. I forgot all three of them, but their memory returned a sharp nip on the skin whenever Albert and I had to pinch to get by without their rent. Benjamin Barker faded from my heart in the fifteen years since he'd been sent off, and so few men in his position ever returned that I'd given up thinking I'd ever see him again. He'd have been better off staying as far away from London as he could, after all. There was nothing for him to return to here, save a box of razors squirreled away under my floorboards.

For years Albert and I had tried to rent out the upstairs room, but no one we took on ever stayed more than four or five days. They'd all complained of noises beneath the floorboards, like something was trying to fight its way out from under them. Said the room was haunted, they did, of all the great absurd stories to concoct. After getting thoroughly fed-up with all the haunting nonsense, Albert had me sleep upstairs by myself for a night (by that point my husband had put on so much weight his ankles wouldn't have supported him walking up the stairs to even get to the room) and see if there was any merit to what the boarders were feeding us. So I did. Before attempting to sleep I knelt by the board under which I'd hidden the razors and ran my hand over it. It don't know what I'd hoped to accomplish by doing so, but Ben's presence, or lack thereof, flooded back to me. I'd heard nothing that night. After one or two more people had tried their luck with the room and gave us the same ghost story, we gave up trying to rent it out.

It's a terrible thing to say, but I admit I was relieved the day Albert died, little more than four years ago now and long since he'd forgotten about the family that once lived upstairs. He'd been old, going senile, and of absolutely no use to me whatsoever. As I'd been left to my own devices and had been running the sad little shop by myself for years, his death wasn't much of a loss. Taking care of him was just one less chore of mine, and from the funeral on I'd been spending far less of the money we didn't have. For the first in a long time, I'd felt free. It was almost as if the world had opened itself to me, despite the fact that I'd had little money and was making even less through the pie shop keeping a roof over my head. I was still free to live and to love as I chose, and for a while it was all that mattered.

I'd thought it would make me happy. Turns out few men are willing spare thoughts for a lady who's been used. I should've expected it. After a while I did come to expect it. Life, as it turned out, was harder to live on my own than I'd anticipated. Whether I'd appreciated it or not, Albert had been company. Often unwelcome company and more of a burden than anything else, but someone to talk to when I got desperate. Once customers stopped coming altogether, desperate became the norm. Four years alone. If I hadn't kept busy, cooking for customers I knew would never show and attempting to squash whatever manner of crawling things managed to sneak their way in with the flour, I don't know what state my mind would be in. I'd even tried my hand at catching cats, for heaven's sake! Then again, Lord knows my mind is in a sorry enough state as it is, but reasons for that will come soon enough.

Eventually I killed the foolish child in me that pined away for affection. It just wasn't worth the effort anymore. I should've killed my hope at the same time. It squirreled itself away somewhere under layers of callus and practicality, so far back that for the longest time I'd had no idea it still survived. I spent so long going through the motions I'd forgotten what it was like to live, even to have something to warrant hope.

And I'd been going through the motions just like any other day when he showed up at my door.


	4. Chapter 4

At first I didn't recognize him. I bustled about, babbling like an idiot while trying to find him something edible and still manage to get a good look at him. His dark hair was swept back from the face I remembered, but streaked with grey and unkempt. His clothing was on its last legs, worn but still possessed of the shadow of elegance lost. And his eyes, the once-beautiful coffee brown eyes I'd always loved had deepened and darkened to near black. Near black with a burgundy sheen that, depending on what he was thinking, seemed to glow like coals.

I apologized time and again for the sorry quality of the food, embarrassed by how squalid my life had become since he'd last seen me. That is, if he really was Benjamin Barker. There was always the possibility that I'd let my thoughts run away with me, and it wouldn't have been the first time I'd spoken too soon and humiliated myself. But upon hearing the keen interest he'd shown in the story of the empty upstairs room, hope flared back up in my heart. I gave him what he wanted. I told him of the Ben I'd always admired, pretty little Johanna, the wife who'd thrown away all that was important in her life. I told him of Lucy's mistake and how Turpin had taken advantage of it.

The outburst he gave before I could finish confirmed every suspicion running through my head.

My heart danced even as it despaired when he told me the Benjamin I'd known was gone. He was Todd now. Sweeney Todd. A sharper, harsher name to represent the hardened man he'd become. To erase the foolish young thing he'd been in favor of one world-wise and severe. He'd survived trials by fire and emerged from the ashes changed almost beyond recognition, consumed by a revenge I had yet to learn the sheer depth of.

But the love for his lost family, that much remained. Warped and burning as it was, his heart still belonged to Lucy. The beautiful Lucy he'd been forced to leave, not the diseased harpy wot crept about the streets grabbing onto people's sleeves for money. He wouldn't want to see Lucy that way; it would grieve him more than losing her once already had. With the damage poison and liquor had done to her brain, she probably wouldn't even remember him, after all. He would be better off not knowing that she lived. I could protect Mr. Todd from little, but I would do what I could. He had no one else in London anymore.

Somewhere inside, dreams I'd buried fifteen years ago, dreams I didn't dare give voice to, murmured that one day I might own this new, hardened heart.

I took him upstairs, and with that I'd sealed my fate even before either of us had any inkling of what hells would come all too quickly. I took the velvet box from under the floorboard and placed it in his hands, and watched his deadened eyes come alive.

He lifted the largest of the razors from the velvet, holding it almost as if it would slip away like smoke if he squeezed too tightly. For the first time since he'd walked through my door, a smile lit Todd's face. His fingers slid rapturously across the silver, caressed it as I'd imagined he'd once caressed his Lucy. He flicked the razor open, grinned at the metallic scrape as the blade slid free. It was a kind of music to him, a music I'd wanted to hear for myself and never could. But the silver I could appreciate, the smile on his face reflected in the razor's mirror surface. That smile had a different kind of beauty than Benjamin Barker's smile, one that was darker to match the man he'd become, a fitting match shadowed by innocence lost and the lines about his mouth. A jagged, incomplete beauty befitting the likes of Sweeney Todd.

Yes, they would do wonders as he'd said, he and his razors. With or without my help, they would pull us out of the squalor we'd known, out of shared black misery and thrust us into a red, blazing life that would be beyond any of our powers to escape it.

Not that escape was even really an option at the time. I invited him to take my upstairs room for himself. He needed a place to stay, after all, and I'd wanted to help Mr. Todd have a life here as best I could. I _wanted_ him to have a life here, if not with me then near me. Yes, I'd thought, just having him here would be enough. His presence, more tangible and electric on my skin than just his razors under my floor, that would be enough.


	5. Chapter 5

I soon learned what an antsy creature I'd taken on upstairs. Mr. Todd would pace day and night, fighting with his brain to find some way to attract people to his new --or, shall I say, old-- establishment. As a last-ditch effort to alleviate his restlessness, I suggested going to see some Italian charlatan wot'd taken up residence in St. Dunstan's Square. Maybe Adolfo Pirelli's ridiculous display would give him some ideas, if anything. I'd grinned wryly at exactly how easy the ideas came once Mr. T had just gotten a look at the boy the man had grabbing attention for him, let alone the man himself, and even more at how quickly Mr. T. managed to show him up. Nearly gave me a heart attack, though, when he asked Beadle Bamford to be the judge of the contest, but show Pirelli up, he did. And he made a public display of it, no less, with neither flash nor flourish. Just one silver angel and his skill.

Well, I was glad for Todd's success, though I knew that with any luck (whether it'd be good or bad remained yet to be seen), I'd soon be housing a murderer 'stead of a barber. He'd be getting a steady stream of people through his door then, make no mistake, Beadle Bamford included. I could only hope having that greasy little rat's patronage would lure in the judge as well. The sooner Mr. Todd's mind was at rest, the better, I'd thought as I hauled a chair upstairs for him to use. I wanted him to have his revenge, and if it made me party to murder in the process, so be it. Those men had ruined him, taken away everything he'd known, and I'd wanted the world for him. I still did. Revenge was the least I could allow him. Cor, I should've even been helping him send Turpin and the beadle to their maker. If Sweeney Todd couldn't have Benjamin Barker's life back, at least he would have someone to look after him. Someone as devoted as I would be. If, someday, he'd have me.

But even such stellar advertising wasn't enough to stop the pacing. Five days of pacing since Bamford had promised Todd he'd come, and the man'd become even more restless than before. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat; just stared out the window, flicking his razor open and shut. Did he not realize his revenge would come more easily if he'd allow his intended victim time to grow a _reason_ for a shave? The man wouldn't be much of a murderer if he couldn't keep himself in check; he'd get himself caught for sure if he was willing to go chasing after throats to cut.

_Not to mention_, whispered some voice in the back of my brain, _if he achieves his ends too quickly, there won't be anything left to tie him to this place, will there? He'll leave you again, and what then? You'll be left to your empty shop, empty home, empty heart, with no money and even fewer friends. Could you live like that all over again? _

No, no I couldn't and I knew it.

_Could you give up the one and only thing you've ever cared for? _

That was a question I wasn't ready to contend with.

I shook it off for the moment, reined my thoughts back to the immediate problem. Patience, dear, I'd told him. I'd run into the likes of worse than Todd in the butchery district looking for my ingredients, and overheard details of grosser murders conducted for less reason than Todd's while hurrying my way back to friendlier streets. From those alone I knew that a murder the like Mr. Todd wanted took more careful planning than he'd thought of. Wait, I'd advised. Let them come to you. Wait, and in the meantime work out exactly how the deed is to be done. I dared lay my hand on his shoulder as I spoke, and I could've sworn I felt him relax a bit under the touch, but still I was afraid to hope too much. Rather than dwell on it, I went on. Who knew, maybe he'd even enjoy coming up with the details.

He'd seemed satisfied with my answer and looked about to relax more when the bell at the door chimed; nearly scared me half to death, it did, but at least Mr. Todd seemed to know the youth who stumbled in. Anthony, his name was, and he was babbling something about a girl faster than I could even register his telling me his name. But the words "Johanna" and "judge" I caught.

My eyes widened and snapped to catch Mr. Todd's, taking in how every nerve in his body came alight at once. The tense, agitated man of five minutes ago had been wiped away at the mere mention of his baby girl, and lit a fire in his eyes I'd had yet to see when he heard her name juxtaposed with Turpin's. I took it the boy had never been let in on Mr. Todd's past, from the way all that seemed to matter to him was the girl and how much he apparently loved her and wanted to run away with her. I'd seen his kind of boyish zeal before in Ben, and it wasn't something I felt the need to ever see again. Instead, I watched Todd's face. The wheels were turning at such a speed in his brain I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd heard them whirring.

He could kill two birds with one stone, or in this case, only kill one man and leave the birds alone. That is, unless he wanted his baby girl all to himself. In _that_ case, this Anthony character would have to go, and then some horrible excuse would have to be given to Johanna if she really had been in love with the boy and it was just all so messy…I thought I'd liked things better when it was just Turpin we were after, and not the girl, too. Granted I'd never had anything against Johanna being with her father, the poor child, but…there was still that voice in my mind, whispering that once he'd gotten his revenge, Mr. Todd would probably take any good reason to leave here. Could I survive that?

I wasn't at all keen to find out.


	6. Chapter 6

A plan was quickly devised to give both Todd and Anthony what they wanted. Anthony would use the key the girl had thrown to him to rescue her that night, and while he ran to get a coach to take them away, Johanna would hide here. Todd would have time with his daughter, would know she was going to marry a trustworthy, honorable boy, and could be near certain that he'd be able to see his darling pet again. Then, while Turpin would be out for the blood of whoever'd scarpered off with his ward, Todd could send word that he had information on the whereabouts of the lovely Johanna, and so lure the old judge up to the shop. From there, we'd see who was truly out for blood.

Anthony professed his gratitude and rushed his way back out of the shop, and almost before the door had the chance to shut I saw Todd's lip curl and heard him mutter something that sounded like "What's this?" at the window. Upon investigation, the reason turned out to be the very Italian charlatan whose trouncing had resulted in the frenzied pacing I'd only just managed to stop.

I knew when that Pirelli character came calling on him Mr. Todd was going to have some trouble getting himself out of this one. But he could handle himself, else he'd never have survived the last fifteen years. Me, I kept Toby, Pirelli's boy, downstairs with me. He was a scrawny little thing, thirteen years old and quite small for his age, and timid as a mouse until I'd offered him something to eat. It was almost painful watching the poor child eat; even the rats wot scurried around the streets wouldn't eat the meat pies that ended up in my trash, and Toby devoured three without batting an eye. I could only imagine what that wretched Italian had been feeding him, if anything at all some days.

The food had loosened his tongue a little, though, and I'd tried to keep him talking as much as I could to distract from whatever noises could be heard through the ceiling. Noises that soon escalated from the everyday sound of shuffling footsteps. Some kind of struggle. So I banged around in the shop, cleaning up and whatnot, doing my best to sound calm. I asked Toby how he'd come to work for Pirelli, and soon after he related the state of his life to me I regretted asking at all. Poor boy was breaking my heart the more he chattered, and the worst of it was that he was almost grateful to the man for taking him from the workhouse. I'd seen Pirelli beating the boy about after Mr. Todd had shown him up in the square; how anyone could call a life like that worth living was beyond me, but Toby was cheerful to the point of being agonizing to hear. God, he made me want to do whatever I could to get him away from Pirelli, more so when Toby leapt, terrified, out of his seat.

I'll say it was a job keeping the boy in the shop wot when he remembered Pirelli was set for a tailor's appointment that afternoon. Poor little thing was scared stiff by the man, he was. Made me wonder what kind of a master the Italian had been. When Pirelli hadn't come downstairs after the first five or so minutes with Todd, there was little doubt in my mind what kind of fate this Pirelli had met, and I couldn't say I felt sorry for him. The sight of those stained, makeshift bandages wrapped around Toby's hands was more than enough to tell me the man had deserved whatever end Mr. T had given him.

But Toby ran out, and I was at a loss as how to keep him away from Todd without making the child suspicious. By the time Toby came back downstairs, all trace of terror wiped from his face, I was slightly more prepared to do my job. There was no way I was letting the boy back upstairs again. That last scare was close enough as it was. Toby said that Mr. Todd had sent him back down because Pirelli had been called away suddenly. And also that Todd'd said to give Toby some gin. So gin it was. If I could, right then I'd have done near anything to keep the poor child happy. And in the dark.

While the boy sat with the bottle down in the shop, I went to see what, exactly, had gone on upstairs. As I walked in, Mr. Todd was standing calmly, wiping off his razor as if in a trance. Again that feeling like I was intruding settled around my shoulders, and I spoke quickly to shake it off as soon as possible. Upon asking when Pirelli would be returning, I learned what, exactly, had befallen the pompous charlatan. Mr. T. made a casual gesture toward the steamer trunk in the corner, and it took a good amount of self-control not to smack myself in the forehead when I looked in. I'd been under the impression we'd only be having one or two murders here at most, and Pirelli's death had certainly upped that number, what with his bleeding corpse sitting in Todd's trunk!

At any rate, Pirelli wouldn't be needing that lovely chatelaine purse on his belt anymore. I relieved the body of that little burden, and then turned back to plead Toby's case. I'd be damned before I turned the boy out on his own, and doubly damned before I sent him back up here to his death. The boy had already been through so much, and…I'd been thinking, as I'd talked to him, that I might like to take him on to help me around the shop. It wouldn't be so bad, or so hard having Toby around…would it?

I smiled to myself when Mr. Todd agreed to let Toby stay (despite that both of us knew shops with no customers needed ho hired help), and started to say something else when I heard him draw in a sharp breath. My blood froze. No, no, not already—

Things looked like Todd would be getting his revenge sooner than I'd ever anticipated.


	7. Chapter 7

None other than Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford stood on the pavement under the window. My heart sank even as it soared. I was happy that Mr. Todd's fight might soon be over; no one deserved peace of mind more than he, and I wanted him to have that, that closure, to be able to live with himself and his loss. But…he would never choose to continue living in a place filled with so many memories of a life lost. There were too many ghosts for him here.

Yes, yes I was selfish. Four years alone had made me so. Desperate for another presence to distract me from the loneliness that remained. The thought that he might be gone again so quickly was a hard thing to accept. Still, I couldn't exactly stay up there while Todd was fixing to get his revenge at last; it was something best carried out alone, and besides, I didn't think I'd have been able to watch. The best I could do was wish him luck.

Before he could protest, I left a brief kiss on his cheek and whisked out of the room.

Even_ I_ couldn't believe I'd done so as I raced down the stairs, hopefully in time to make it to my shop before the judge made it to the stairs. I'd had absolutely no desire to have to greet the man on his way up. Besides, Toby was still inside waiting for me, and probably still drinking me out of house and home.

Which happened to be the case when I made it back inside. I did my best to put on as normal a face as possible for the boy and ushered him and his gin toward my living room – just in case Mr. Todd didn't kill the judge cleanly and wound up making as much noise as he had while doing in Pirelli. I was thankful for the liquor's effects on the child; he was getting sleepy, and I wasn't sure I could keep up the cheerful front for much longer. Face in my hand, I sank back into my couch more mortified than I'd ever been in my life. What in heaven's name had _possessed_—?

The sound of Toby chiming an innocent "Are you alright, ma'am?" shook me out of my anxious reverie long enough to give him a watery smile his drooping eyes probably wouldn't notice. I assured him it was nothing and he seemed satisfied with that. So satisfied, in fact, that he leaned against my skirts and rested his head back against my knees. I couldn't help but run my fingers through his hair; the boy really was a piece of work, and he made me smile. But all too soon I felt him slump more heavily against me, dead asleep, and I was once again left to my thoughts.

I supposed the kiss had been my mind's twisted little way of letting go. It'd shown him the affection that 'til then I'd done my utmost to ignore, and now I could start to accept what was to come. Now that he had the judge where he wanted him, it would only be a matter of time before Mr. Todd severed the last of his ties to Benjamin Barker's life, wouldn't it? The faster I came to terms with that—

The sound of more than one set of footsteps pounding heavily across the upstairs floor jolted me from my train of thought. Something was happening, something I doubted could be to anyone's advantage. As quickly and gently as I could I eased Toby from my lap and rested him back against the couch, bolting to the window. Waves of shock and anger and some perverse emotion almost like relief coursed through me at the sight of Turpin stalking down the stairs. I waited the beat or two for the man to turn the corner and near sprinted up to Todd's room, practically shouldering past the boy Anthony on the way; I hadn't noticed he'd come back. Cor, he'd probably rushed inside with Johanna on his lips before he'd even bothered to notice the judge in the chair—!

Before I'd even finished asking what was the matter Todd spun on me. Rough hands shoved me back into the chair and I felt the cold press of silver against my throat; I'd told him to wait, he said. He'd taken my advice, gone slowly, made the judge as unsuspecting as he could, and just before he could finish the job Anthony had burst in with his talk of Johanna and elopement, throwing it all to the wind. I'd told him to wait, he said, and I had ruined everything.

A rabid fire glowed behind his red-black eyes, seeped into the threatening grin he held before my eyes. I didn't dare breathe, lest the razor's edge press into my skin. Hate radiated from him in waves. It had taken a blade at my throat and the insane gleam in his eye, but I finally understood the lengths to which Todd would go to get his revenge. No matter who it was, anyone in his way would be annihilated.

But I wasn't to be one of them just yet. Almost as soon as he'd pressed the razor to my skin it was whipped away and I was thrust away from him. I'd barely brought my fingers to my throat before he was at the window, one hand clenched white-knuckled around the sill, the other fisted in his hair. Those rabid eyes were wide, frenzied with a burgeoning insanity I'd never seen before. His breath was labored, coming in gasps, and sweat was beginning to bead on his pale forehead. This was Sweeney Todd. The embodiment of the madness that had wiped all trace of Benjamin Barker from his face. Emotions flew rapid-fire across features I barely recognized, there then gone again as he lurched back, staggering, from the window. And almost immediately, every inch of his body deadened again. The eyes darkened once more to black, muscles tensed then released, and his whole body slumped, defeated, to his knees.

Even the razor slipped from his hand.

For a few long moments all I could do was stand there, trembling with fear and relief. Though not my own. He was fine, I thanked heaven, just shaken. We both were, after that display. But he was still the man I knew, no more, no less. He'd just suffered the greatest setback I could've imagined, and I couldn't let his outburst get in the way of how I thought of him. Fifteen years had done their damage, and I would take the cracks as they were. Besides, it was clearer than ever now that he needed someone to keep him somewhat in check. I felt a wry, sad smile curve one side of my mouth and went to his side, gently slapped his cheek to bring him back to reality; poor useless thing couldn't scrape himself together just yet.

I gathered myself back enough to kneel beside him and lift him to his feet. Something had broken within him at losing his chance to kill the judge, one more piece of him chipped off like so many others had been in the last fifteen years. He didn't protest my touch; it was almost as if he no longer noticed me at all, even as I pulled his arm around my shoulders and wrapped my own around his waist. Then, meek as a boy, he let me take him back downstairs.


	8. Chapter 8

He slid into a booth as if he were sleepwalking, eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. I glanced inside to make sure Toby hadn't heard any of what had gone on upstairs; he was still asleep, thank heaven. Snatching up the bottle of gin from where he'd left it, I walked back to Mr. Todd and poured him a glass, bidding him drink.

It took considerably more time for the gin to pull Todd back together than it'd taken Toby to pass out cold on my parlor floor. The boy was the least of my worries. I brought one hand up to massage my temples; I'd had little problem with housing a murderer; I'd known Todd for years, after all, and he was neither careless nor stupid. He would be very particular about keeping up appearances, at least until the judge was done for. Which could've been a good deal longer away now. But as much as I wanted Mr. Todd to continue living and working upstairs, I would sooner throw him out on his ear than keep corpses in my house! The place was in a sad enough state and the pies didn't exactly smell like roses as it was; the last and I meant _very_ last thing I needed was a body stashed Lord knows where!

Thankfully Todd was just as keen as I was to get the stiff out of my house, but its removal was going to require some thinking. When I asked what he proposed we do about it, he suggested we do away with it tonight, which was the kind of answer I'd been looking for. But burying it somewhere as he'd said would require us to haul the body downstairs (in the trunk, of course), and hire a cab to take us and it far enough out of London to even _find_ a place to bury it. Even then no matter how late we went (as if careening around in a cab at one in the morning wouldn't be suspicious enough), we'd still run the risk of someone witnessing the deed. No, we needed some way to get rid of it cleanly, and preferably without leaving the city. But managing such a scheme would take a miracle, and if I'd believed in those I would have had a love and a family and a shop worth running by now…

_The shop…_

So whispered the first seed of an idea in my mind.

I already had the oven in the bakehouse; that thing was certainly large enough to contain a corpse, if it came to that. It would burn away to nothing, if left inside long enough. Burn down to nothing but ash…But cor, burning the entire thing would smell something awful, wouldn't it? That kind of a stench would be sure to attract attention, especially from a shop that hadn't done a real business in years. I supposed we could burn the corpse piece by piece if need be, but for heaven's sake I was a baker, not a butcher! Just imagine, having slabs of meat rotting away down there while I waited to incinerate them at intervals…

_Meat_…

That really was all Pirelli's body had become, hadn't it, now that he was dead?

_Ah, Nellie_, a tiny voice whispered at the back of my mind, _what is meat good for, now, dear?_

The thought was insidious. I tried to push it away (_No, I couldn't! God, how revolting…_), but the thing kept slithering back, black and sinuous, snaking around any other feeble plan I came up with to dispose of the carcass (_Come now, old girl, it's can't be so different than preparing meat you used to get from the butcher_) True, I used to have to try my hand at butchery occasionally, when the only cuts of meat I could afford were ones with more bone than sinew, often with the hide still attached in some places (_Just stripping the stuff from the bone, you used to do that yourself, remember?_). And it wasn't as if I didn't need the money; as it was I'd still be paying off debts when I was cold in my grave…(_Then why not just use what you've been given, dearie?_)

It really would be the cleanest way to remove all trace of Pirelli from the place…Just burn whatever pieces I couldn't use…

_Use what you've been given…_

I put forth the proposal to Mr. Todd. There was no way he'd agree to such a thing, was there? It took a little nudging for him to even understand what I'd been getting at, but when he did a small smile played about the corners of his lips.

"You're a bloody wonder," he'd said, the burgundy gleam returning to eyes that were once more focused and alive, "Practical _and_ appropriate." His grin widened, and the approval I saw there sent a warm shiver skittering across my skin; I wasn't sure what to make of that, but at least we'd found our miracle.

* * *

**_A/N: For those of you wondering where the heck the dance went, I felt the need to exercise a bit of artistic lisence with the "A Little Priest" sequence. It's one thing to include spontaneous waltzing in a movie-musical and have it look fluid, but it's another game altogether when trying to put it into writing. Over the course of three weeks, I'd gone through three separate drafts of Chapter 8 with the dancing included, none of which sounded the least bit convincing. Every attempt seemed too stiff/awkward/out-of-character to fit with the rest of the story, or even with the way it was staged in the film. So...at the risk of being shunned by the Todd-loving community, I went out on the limb and scrapped them. Chapter 8 as it stands now to me at least keeps the continuity and flow of the story going. Please forgive me for glossing over the bit some of you were probably looking forward to - I tried my best to do justice to the scene without the waltz (which was even hard in itself! Fun, though...). Thanks!_**


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the afternoon found me preoccupied with the thought of the evening's tasks. Mr. Todd retired back up to his shop to do heaven only knew what, most likely pace, and left me to my thoughts. I went back to my parlor hoping to find some diversion there, but stopped when I saw Toby still sleeping, leaning with his head and arms on the settee cushions. A lukewarm smile flitted across my lips at the sight of the poor creature and I couldn't help but let myself sink into the couch beside him. With any luck, he'd never have to know the kind of life he'd had with Pirelli again. I ran my hand through his hair, my smile widening a bit. No, this boy could be happy now. I could give him that much.

My fingers threaded through his short dark hair, trailing my nails gently across his scalp until they ran across a thin, rough line in his skin – a long cut just above his ear, scabbed over but apparently still smarting enough that my touch upon it had woken him. Toby started away from me, frightened eyes wide and unseeing, nearly toppling over backward in his haste to get away. I was horrified both that I'd brought such an expression to his face, and that he'd obviously woken up to blasts of pain before. Quick as I could, I put my arm around his shoulders and steered him back to sit on the sofa, running my hands over his arms and murmuring that he was fine, everything would be fine, he was safe here.

A few heavy breaths later, his eyes refocused and realized where he was again, and upon that realization the poor child looked as if he wanted to sink right through the floor. I began to apologize but he'd cut me off, shrugging out from under my arm. He asked me to forgive him for falling asleep, for taking up space in my home and causing trouble when he shouldn't be there, thanked me for the food and said he might as well wait for Pirelli back at the square. God, the child was breaking my heart. I couldn't let him go back to wait for someone who would (thankfully) never come, but I couldn't let him go back to having no one, either. He'd end up back in the workhouse, or maybe even someplace worse. And…at the time I hadn't wanted to admit it, but I liked having Toby here. From what little I knew of him, I knew I couldn't look at him and not smile. He'd been through the mill, that boy, and still had it in him to laugh. I could've stood to learn something from that.

He turned to leave, but before he could get up I took his hand and turned him back to me. "Oh no, you don't," I'd said briskly, sitting him back down and poking around to find some sort of alcohol that hadn't been consumed, "you're not going anywhere until I clean up that cut of yours, and even then as far as you'll be going is the kitchen to help with dinner. Now tell me, are there any other of those painful little buggers I should know about?"

Slowly, I watched a smile spread across Toby's mouth, and for the moment, all thoughts of Pirelli and what to do with him were forgotten.

However, as much as I would've liked to put it off, that night I'd had little choice but to see what I could do with the body. If we were going to do this thing proper-like, I had to be careful. And I couldn't think of Pirelli as a person anymore. Pirelli the man was gone. All that was left was meat that would spoil if left on the bone for too long. Meat that I'd had to prepare if it was to be worth anything to anyone.

So I tried to set about it as I would've any other messy but necessary task, but such a mindset, unfortunately, is hard to maintain when you're carving up something with a human face. My stomach almost made its way into my mouth at points, and it took every ounce of self control I'd ever possessed to keep myself from retching. Like it or not, I'd _known_ the man. That was what he was, still a man, albeit a cruel one if Toby's wounds were any indication.

Yes, a _cruel_ man, I'd thought, remembering the bandages on Toby's hands, the cuts in his scalp, the bruises I'd seen rising under his pale skin. That was justification enough for what I was doing, wasn't it? That the poor child wouldn't ever have to see his like again?

_But shouldn't this sort of person have been left for God to deal with by now?_ my conscience prodded in time with the way my stomach heaved. But even as it roiled, a piece of me I'd never known existed decided to make itself heard. _There hasn't been a God on Fleet Street for years_, it snapped, cold and matter-of-fact, _and if there has been, He's never spared a thought for _you_, now, has He?_

I left the oven open as I worked, sitting far enough away that it wouldn't hurt to face it, but near enough to throw in pieces that couldn't be used for meat as fast as I'd gotten them separated from the rest of the carcass. Regardless, the heat against my face was uncomfortable enough to be an incentive to work faster, and the glaring orange light helped to distort everything I saw enough that after a while I almost forgot it was a human corpse I'd been dismembering.

Almost.

But somehow, even as I forced my hands deeper into the mess of blood and flesh and bone, I wasn't afraid. Horrified, revolted, sickened in every sense and incarnation of the word, but not afraid. Not like I should have been. The reality of Benjamin Barker had conjured up a fierce hope I'd thought I'd lost years before, and even the fevered, irrational, impossible hope it had become was something worth clinging to. He was here, here with me, and hope's claws would never free me from the wishes that would fester and make me the monster I was fast becoming. He needed this. My ruined, desperate soul needed his presence. And that painful, despicable hope would consume me like the ruby fire reflected in the blood on my hands.

* * *

**A/N: Hello again, all! First I'd like to apologize for having taken as long as I did to post this chap, and then apologize in advance for the length of time it'll probably take before I post the next. Midterm Season is coming up, and as Chemistry seems determined to kick my ass, most of my energies are tied up in training for the Epic Battle. As it is, I'd rather make sure my chapters are thought-out and polished up some before I post, rather than slapped together and posted just to keep updates quicker. Anyhoo:::grovels::: forgive my absence! I'll do my best to not take too long with chapter 10! Love to everyone:::little heart shower explosion rains down on all readers/reviewers!:::**


	10. Chapter 10

That first time had taken hours. But, as always, I was practical, and unavoidably I was soon to become more efficient at human butchery than I'd ever been at anything in my life. Even if it hadn't seemed so then.

I dragged myself into my room afterwards, clawed frantically at the dress sodden and diseased with congealing blood that still hung from my frame. God, I needed to get it off. I wanted to tear it, burn it, erase every indication that the thing had witnessed the deeds it had, and I'd barely managed to fling the hideous fabric away from me before I felt eyes on my back. I froze.

"Is it done?" rasped the husky voice behind me, smouldering with power and intent and a violent eagerness that set me hot and cold at once. Horror and a perverse anticipation raised gooseflesh on my back.

_No, no no no no no—!_

I was afraid. I'd felt his razor at my throat, torn the flesh from human bones, proposed to make a business out of murder, and not once had I felt the fear that then raked like nails down my spine. The man behind me was the furthest creature I could ever have imagined from the Ben he'd used to be, dark and brooding like a nightmare I couldn't seem to wake from and somehow, perversely, didn't want to.

His voice grew sharper, deeper, hot against my neck. "Dammit, woman! Is it done?"

_You want this. _

A steady sound, a voice that sounded like but couldn't have been mine, gave him his yes.

Over the course of the night numbness had seeped into every inch of me not spattered by darkening red splotches, and the places that were burned as if dipped into the fire behind his eyes. But this—every nerve sang and flinched as ungentle hands found my skin. White teeth bared in a predatory grin and before I could even think to pull away his mouth was crushed to mine. The kiss was vicious, hungry, and everything I should have run from poured out and splashed like acid over me.

Delicious, exquisite, excruciating pain.

_He's using you._

I knew it was true. He didn't love me and probably never would, said the pieces of my brain that still held some semblance of sanity. I existed to put a roof over his head and cover his tracks. And I would do. I knew that.

But I would take what little he gave, even if he took more of me than I'd ever get in return. I was no more above him than the rats in the street, after what I'd done. And so long as I was going to hell, I was going to go on my own terms. The drying blood on my hands left dusty red streaks across his white shirt, and as he clawed at the ties of my shift I grabbed at his collar, pulling him closer. His kisses were powerful, as engulfing as the fire still burning behind his black eyes, a fire that cleansed even as it branded the blood into my skin.

This was why I did what I would, not for love, not for approval, but _him_. Raw and acrid, metallic against my tongue. I would please him howsoever I could, make his violent life just a little easier to lead. I needed nothing in return. Silver roses bloomed behind my eyelids as his nails left thin red vines down my arms, across my collarbone, along my shoulder blades and spine. And I gave back everything he left me, kiss for kiss, bruise for bruise. A few of his scratches drew blood, but I was not so bold as to do the same myself. If this was what he wanted, then I would give him what I could, but so long as he was giving, I'd take whatever he saw fit to give and then some.

He near shoved me back against my bed, hands brushing lower, testing my throat with his teeth, murmuring against me, _My pet, my love, my life—_

_--Lucy._

_My Lucy…_

I froze, and every inch of me he'd just made flame ran cold. God, I don't think anything had ever hurt so much. Like my heart suddenly insisted on forcing shards of ice through my veins. But I didn't pull away. I could fight his fire with fire, the blaze that flared all over again when _her_ name turned over and over in my brain. I waited for him to bring his mouth back up to mine, kissed him slowly with the same consuming need he'd left against my lips, and bit down.

I smiled when I tasted his blood in my mouth, licked it from my lips. Cruelly smiled at the rage in his face as he lurched back from me. He knew as well as I that he couldn't yell, lest he wake Toby sleeping in the parlor. I'd never seen an intensity of hate like that which burned through every inch of him then, nor would I again, as he wiped the blood from his lips. I stared back into eyes that looked as if to kill me right then and there, but couldn't flinch. If he was to live here, if I was to watch his sorry back like he expected, he would do well to know I wouldn't follow like a child in his shadow. I would do just about anything he wanted of me, but I refused to stand as a substitute for Lucy. I would not be used for such a fantasy.

"Devil's bitch," he hissed, raising a hand as if to strike my face, but when I wouldn't cringe from him he turned and swept from the room, hands clenched into fists. The ice drained from my veins and left a numb hollowness in its wake, and all I could do was lie there and breathe for the longest minutes of my life. A part of me died that night.

But if he wasn't, then at least the moment, that one small triumph, was mine.


End file.
